The true Monomyth
by Knight Abe Errant
Summary: Sieglinde finds herself in the middle of unexpected events as she is imbued with a new power and haunted by eerie dreams. Follow this Dragonborn as she faces her destiny, while beginning to unravel a great mystery long withheld from the mortal races. But dark entities secretly conspire to claim her power for their own purposes. Rated M for violence, swearing & occasional sexuality
1. Captured

This is my first attempt at a fan-fiction, based on my favourite TES V: Skyrim character – whom I have recently began to re-play, this time with a lot of extra story and many a twist in the original idea. The story shall follow the main questline of Skyrim and Dragonborn for the most part, but there are going to be digressions from the canon just as often as not. Assume that things are as set by the original until told otherwise. For the time being, the events of Dawnguard will not be making an appearance.

I always welcome constructive criticism, and don't hold back if you believe there are any loopholes in the story that have not been sufficiently explained. I cannot promise to answer all such questions however, as some information may intentionally be withheld until the heroine herself learns of it.

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**Chapter 1: Captured**

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_"Why does he not act? Man, Mer and Beast cannot stand alone against the events to come. Do we let them fight this terror alone?"_

_"The mercy in your heart clouds your vision. The peoples of Nirn have always endured, one way or another, through cunning or honour, might or magic. They will endure this too."_

_"You know as well as I that they never did so alone. Our hand has always guided them, the divine incarnated in their greatest heroes. It is unthinkable to imagine the history of Man without Ysgramor, or Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, or Tiber Septim? Without the one whom the penultimate Septim dubbed the Eternal Champion, a title holding more truth than any mortal could have guessed? What of the Mer, had there been no Nerevar, or his last reincarnation? Had the prisoner stayed a simple commoner instead of having ascended just moments before the same Emperor entered his cell, all Mundus would have belonged to Mehrunes Dagon now. We have played with fate before, in times less dire than these, yet now do we hesitate. Why?"_

_"And yet it is through our meddling, that the prophecy had come to be fulfilled so soon in the first place, all within hardly more than an age. The Balac-thurm had been shattered, reassembled, and unmade. Numidium was awakened and destroyed utterly. Time itself was made non-existent for the briefest of moments. The three upstart gods destroyed and the mountain itself infuriated. The Amulet of Kings, destroyed by the last Septim to shield Nirn from the Daedra's direct intervention forevermore, yet thereby succeeding in opening the path for an even more terrible enemy to re-emerge from the vestiges of Time. And now, through vainglorious ambition and greed of one influential man, does the Tower of Snow lie prepared for the final act; all exactly as had been foretold. All is set for the World-Eater's return, only the final spark is missing. Do we meddle in the fates of mortals once more, and light that spark with certainty?"_

_"Ask yourself this: is it better to aid when help is needed and fail, or to restrain oneself from acting and risk bringing about the same outcome through one's inaction?"_

_"So we let our pity for the mortals influence reason? Do we act to save them, based on mere trust in their potential, and hope that they can indeed subvert the prophecy of the scrolls themselves?"_

_"Without that hope, what is left?"_

Sieglinde of Solstheim awoke from her delirious slumber only to find reality no less confusing than the world of dreams. She was sitting on the side of a carriage with her hands bound by irons, two imperial legionnaires at her right, near the back of the carriage opposite one another, a third at the reins, and the Jarl of Windhelm along with a couple of Stormcloaks opposite to the recently-awoken Nord. She knew Ulfric – or rather, she knew of him – though none of those present knew Sieglinde. That was precisely what seemed so strange in all of this: why was she arrested, bound and placed on this carriage, when all she did was cross the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim? What had changed so much during the time she was away, that would make it a crime for a Nord to return to her homeland?

"Finally woken up, huh? I was just about to comment on what a pity it was that we had to spend this trip in silence," said one of the captured Stormcloaks. His speech was heavily accented, clearly a sign of one who had never left Skyrim.

"What's wrong with silence?" she blurted out impulsively. Her speech on the other hand, was of almost untraceable origin; only someone with personal experience could detect the rare occasional lapse in pronunciation which would place her at a crossroads of Nord and Dunmer dialects, with Solstheim or Windhelm being the obvious guesses. The man and his companions simply laughed. The eyes of the gagged Jarl next to him showed no hint of humour; they were set on the path that lay before them.

"Nothing of course, it's just a damn boring way to spend a trip, that's all. Hell of a shame for a man to die after hours of boredom, don't you think?"

"Dead is dead. Unless you're given a sword and die fighting, there's no good way to go." She did not mention the fact she had no need of one, but if there was any hope of escape, it was better no-one knew of her being a mage. The clothes she wore were simple black robes that could have been those of a better-dressed commoner, a mourner or even a cultist, and if they had not suspected her of having any magical talent already, they would likely not change their mind now – that is, unless she gave herself away.

"Now that is a heart of a true daughter of Skyrim right there," said the blonde Stormcloak that spoke to her before. "A shame we met like this, you could have made a fine Stormcloak."

"That's enough of the traitor speech, prisoner. Or do you want to be gagged like your precious Ulfric as well?" Obviously the guards were not pleased by being reminded of what the Stormcloaks stood for. While many were Imperials, the majority of the legionnaires accompanying the prisoner carriage were Nords themselves, and not few of them went to great lengths to avoid making eye-contact with the Jarl of Windhelm.

"I can't see how that would have made my situation any better. I'd just be arrested for actually being guilty of treason instead of this… 'misunderstanding'." She had already told them the whole story; to the guards, the other prisoners… anyone who would listen. How she was in Cyrodiil visiting a relative in Skingrad and was returning home after a year; which was not the entire truth, but not a lie either. She was still put on the carriage and bound as if her words meant nothing.

The carriage began to move downhill towards the fortress town of Helgen, the wheels rocking with the unsteady road. The walls and battlements before them were not particularly large or high, at least not compared to some of the other fortresses Sieglinde had seen, and yet there was a sense of foreboding wrapped around them, heralding what she feared was about to take place. Much to her disdain, her assumptions were correct; as soon as they passed the gates and rounded a corner, they were greeted by the sight of an executioner and an impromptu chopping block. As the officer called each prisoner, she became more and more nervous. There were too many guards and the chains were holding her hands too closely for her to cast any spell other than perhaps a few of the novice-level ones. The officer called for her. She stepped forward with slow strides; with dignity, holding her head high and her eyes defiant.

"Who are you?"

"I am called Sieglinde, once of the Skaal of Solstheim, now of the College of Winterhold, and I reject any and all of these false claims of my supposed consorting with rebels." The officer's gaze faltered, turned to the captain to his right.

"What do we do? She's not on the list," he asked his superior.

"Of course I'm not on the list, you cheese-brained son of a mammoth! They arrested me for no crime at all, unless coming home after finishing an errand in Colovia is now a crime!" She always did have a temper, but clueless people who were 'just following orders' made her blood boil.

"No exceptions; she goes to the block, like all the rest," said the captain, a stern woman whose unpleasant character Sieglinde could describe with a single phrase: up-tight bitch.

"If this is the kind of justice the Empire stands for here, then imperial power in Skyrim has truly been weakened and corrupted beyond recognition. This is no Empire of Martin Septim who sacrificed his life to save his people! And by Shor, this is no Empire of Talos, denying their founder and sentencing to death the people he loved and protected on mere suspicion!" Most of the Stormcloaks gave a loud cheer of agreement, though she noticed some remained silent; probably hoping to plead for their lives later. Either that or they were suspicious of her for having so nonchalantly dissed them a moment earlier. Or they were simply unimpressed by her little speech. The Imperials on the other hand didn't take her act of protest that well. A pungent old glove was shoved in her mouth with such force she had difficulty repressing the impulse to regurgitate. Not that they let her struggle for long; strong hands pulled at the chain that held the iron clasps on her hands and she couldn't help but stumble straight onto the executioner's block.

_Well done, look where your loose tongue got you now,_ she thought to herself. The executioner lifted his axe as a priestess of Arkay spoke the last rites. Had she stayed silent, she might not have been executed first. She closed her eyes as she waited for the blade to come down on her bare neck, unable to move with the guard behind her pushing her down.

_Dammit, this cannot be happening to me! I am a master of the magical schools of Alteration, Destruction and Enchantment, and an expert Conjurer! How could I have let them disable me so easily? I should have fought them at once; I could have killed them all with a well-placed Fireball or Chain Lightning spell before anyone got close enough. I would have become a wanted criminal, sure, but better to be a wanted criminal on the run than an innocent captive being sent to the axe._ An Ebonyflesh spell could have saved her from a direct hit from even the strongest un-enchanted weapon, but this was moot since she was unable to perform the gestures to cast it in the first place.

A strange sound distracted her from her thoughts and she opened her eyes again. It resembled the roar of a great beast, but came from somewhere in the sky. It distracted the guards and the executioner too, as they searched the skies instead of getting over with killing her. Then a sudden quake shook the ground and a gargantuan shadow fell upon the watchtower behind the executioner. An impossibly powerful voice boomed in the air and everyone covered their ears, dropping anything they held in their hands. This was her chance! She pushed upwards with all the weight of her body and the momentum of sudden movement, toppled the guard restraining her, kicked the executioner in the groin with full force, then expelled the putrescent cloth from her mouth and darted behind the nearest wall for cover from any arrows that might have been shot after. Not that she needed cover it in the first place: as soon as she looked around, she could see burning rocks falling from above, and the sky itself swirled in a blazing vortex of ignited clouds. A grey-black dragon, larger than even the largest building in Helgen, breathed fire and incinerated Imperial and prisoner alike, roasted man and stone with impunity.

Disbelief, shock and awe came and went in a matter of moments; survival took precedence. To her luck, everyone was too busy trying to save their skins, or shooting arrows at the great wyrm, who seemed to be at best annoyed by them. This gave Sieglinde enough time to concentrate and generate a simple spell of flames between her palms. The chains were wrought iron and would not give way to simple heating, even if she expended all of her Magicka reserves in the attempt to do so. But that was not her plan, for iron had a weakness that was easily exploited by anyone with the wits and materials at hand; and wit was the prime weapon of a mage, who was never without her magic. She heated the metal until it was blazing hot, so much even that it scalded her wrists despite the fact that only the chain was targeted by the spell; then the fire vanished as twin rays of frost emerged from her palms and joined at the same point that was just a moment before wreathed in flame. With a loud squeal and an even louder crack, the chains broke. She was free, and, more importantly, no mere chain restrained her spell-casting. Next to escape the chaos that still ran rampant through the falling fortress.


	2. Unbound

**Chapter 2: Unbound**

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The irons were still heavy on her wrists, which were bruised by abrasion as well as damaged by both extremes of temperature. But with no chain between the cuffs, she could remedy this quickly with a fast healing spell. The skin under the cuffs swirled and reformed back into perfection, with a pleasurable sensation washing over the Nord sorceress. There was still the matter of burning rocks falling from the skies and a dragon that appeared as suddenly and without explanation that it seemed as if it had been pulled out of Sheogorath's arse. Then again, while unpredictability was certainly _the_ favourite in the Mad God's repertoire, fearsome black dragons did not exactly seem appropriate to his style – at least not without a pink umbrella, a green cylinder hat and singing a stupid tune while it roasted the unfortunate mortals. She shook her head and dismissed her current trail of thought.

_Let's worry about where it came from __**after**__ it is no longer a threat, shall we?_

She peeked from her shelter. The tower looming above her had managed to shield her from the falling rocks so far, but there was no telling when one of them would hit the battlements and cause a stone to loosen and crush her beneath it. The troops and prisoners were both in absolute panic, running for shelter wherever they could find it. She weighed her options. Running for cover would expose her until she had managed to reach a building, and then she would have to fight her way through Imperials and Stormcloaks until she could flee, or at least find a good hiding place. Taking a run for it and going out the fortress' main gate, on the other hand, exposed her to the dragon for as long as it cared to pursue her.

_Dammit, if only I had cared to learn more about the school of Illusion! Invisibility and Muffle would be invaluable right now._

But regret and what-ifs would not help her now. She decided to take her chances with the enemy she could predict over a complete unknown and quickly cast her Ebonyflesh spell, then darted for the closest door into the keep. She got lucky and none of the falling rocks hit her on the way. As soon as she entered the building and slammed the door behind her however, she was greeted with the sound of iron striking iron. An Imperial and a Stormcloak were fighting, an ally of each already dead on the floor with visible mortal wounds. She recognized them as the blond from the carriage and the officer with the list. The latter noticed her first and shouted at her:

"Stay out of this, prisoner! Run away now and we'll forget you escaped from your execution!"

He slashed his sword at his enemy all the while, and grunts interrupted his speech when he blocked the Stormcloak's axe with his shield. The light imperial shield itself looked beaten and had evidently already taken many a blow – it would likely fail its wielder in a couple of strikes. The Stormcloak then also noticed her, and called for aid:

"Help me sister! We won't get another chance at freedom like this! Don't let the Imperials win!"

Having no shield himself and not in a position to take one from the fallen without risking exposing himself, the Stormcloak was clearly at a disadvantage, having to dodge every swing of the Imperial's sword and only seldom having time to counterattack.

She paused to think for a moment, unsure which path to take, while the Imperial's shield finally cracked and broke apart under the Stormcloak's axe. Then she ran toward the two men, green light shimmering in both her hands as she cast the spell…

Both men stopped in their tracks, surprise clear on their faces as their limbs froze in place, held immovable by an unseen power.

"I bear you no ill will," she said to the Stormcloak, who still held his axe mid-strike. "But I can't be seen helping you either. And you," she turned to the Imperial, "can be happy I'm leaving you alive, if only because I don't want to give you an excuse to justify all this insanity you've gotten me mixed into." While the spell was not a sustained one and thusly allowed her to turn her focus elsewhere and regenerate her pool of magical energy, it would not be long before the paralysis wore off, and then she'd be back where she started. Quickly, she turned back to the Stormcloak.

"If I let you go, promise me you will use this chance and escape, without harming this man. Whatever you fight for, you will be more useful to your comrades alive, than watching from Sovngarde. Blink twice if you agree." He did so, and she cast another Paralysis spell at the Imperial while making a complicated gesture at the other man so as to seem she was dispelling the effect, rather than it wearing off by itself.

"It hurts me to leave this traitor to Skyrim live, but I, unlike this filth upon our race, am a true Nord, and I won't go back on my word to you," the man said as he reluctantly lowered his axe. "Come find us in Windhelm when you decide you can't take the Empire's tyranny any longer, lass. You'd make a good Stormcloak, and Ulfric is always happy to accept another Nord into our ranks. Not to mention we could always use a skilled mage to help us in our fight. Thank you, and may Talos guide you."

He ran down a set of curved stairs leading somewhere underground. Sieglinde pushed the Imperial and toppled him, making him grind his teeth for being unable to shout in pain as his back hit the floor.

"Oh shut up you milk drinker," she scolded him as she went around him and searched his pockets. Muffled sounds of protest could be heard, but as the man couldn't open his mouth, paralysed as he was, the woman could only guess what he was saying. It certainly didn't sound complimenting, that much was clear.

Finally, she found what she was looking for; a ring with five keys on it, two of which bore the insignia of the legion on the flat end.

"Be glad that's all I'm taking from you, skeever-head, and don't forget I spared your life," she said and rose to her feet. Then she quickly searched the two dead ones, took their coin purses, a sword and a dagger, both of which she fastened onto her belt.

Looting the dead was new to her, but the Imperials did confiscate all of her possessions when they arrested her, including her enchanted jewellery and the Akaviri katana she got from a contact in Cyrodiil and was supposed to deliver to a mutual friend. She would need weapons and large filled soul gems before she would feel safe enough to go prodding around for the lost blade. The sword and dagger were tempered iron, which would do to get by, but not much more. Soul gems, on the other hand, cost money and were hard to get as it was, so her chances of finding any in Helgen were nil. Luckily they had the decency to leave her clothes on her persona, which unbeknownst to them also held powerful magicka-regenerating enchantment on the black robe.

"May you burn in Oblivion forever if letting you live comes back to bite me in the ass." With those parting words, she took to the stairs, closed the door and locked it, then descended along the way the Stormcloak had gone before.

She quickly moved past a storage room, where she managed to find two health and magicka potions as well as more dead bodies. The latter had been looted already, so she quickly moved onwards through a dungeon. There too, she found the jailor, tormentor, a couple of Imperial guards and three Stormcloaks already dead. What proved more interesting, however, was the corpse of a captive in a cell, whose robes betrayed him to be a mage. Sieglinde didn't know the man, so either he was a very new addition to the College, or not a member at all. She blasted the door open with a well-aimed firebolt spell and searched the body. It turned out better than she feared, but worse than she had hoped; the man had only a couple of small soul gems, some coin, and two novice-level books containing spells she had already mastered a long time ago. She took his backpack and his hood, which contained a weaker magicka-boosting enchantment. The Nord fastened the hood around her neck and tucked her fair hair inside, hopefully making her less conspicuous to a common observer. When she was finished, she snapped her fingers and the dead mage's robes caught fire.

"May you find peace within the endlessness of Aetherius, fellow student of the arcane." These were the only last rites she had to offer to the man; she had wasted too much time already, and while the underground of the keep seemed to be safe from the black dragon outside, it was only a matter of time before the ceiling crumbled under the weight of falling stone on fire. She moved by, ignoring the other cells that contained only piles of hay and the occasional unfortunate skeleton. The mage toyed with the idea of raising one of them with a necromancy spell, but judged it more of a liability than an asset, were her paths to cross with another living individual.

After a few turns, the underground level abruptly ended in a natural cave, which was so covered in webbing that any idiot would know what to expect. Frostbite spiders. Of all the things she could have encountered, it had to be spiders. Skeevers repulsed her, but she had no issue roasting them alive before they got close enough. She stopped being afraid of draugr and other undead before she turned 13. But she never really got over her fear of spiders. More than a fear – a phobia really. Simply the thought of those skittering limbs and way too many eyes paralysed her almost as efficiently as she had the two fighting men before. Except spiders didn't even need Alteration magic training to have that effect on her.

_Move, damn it! There's a dragon outside, a crumbling fortress over you, and you're scared of __**spiders**__!_

Self-persuasion didn't help much, as usual – as soon as she could detect the intention of the thought, she was impossible to convince. She knew she had to keep moving, had to avoid the oversized critters or, if that failed, fight them… but her fear kept her in place, shaking and trembling.

_I have to do this. I have to do this. Death is worse than spiders…_

She kept the mantra going, taking deep breaths while making sure she was not too loud so as not to be heard by the monstrous octopods. She could do this. She felt something stirring inside her, something alien and powerful, something that had been at the edge of her consciousness ever since she first had those strange dreams. She drew the heavy iron sword she took from the fallen soldier and proceeded to slowly move around the edge of the cave, hoping to sneak by without alerting any of the spiders that might have been hiding in the webbings. Unfortunately, she was no thief or scout, and sneaking was not her forte. In a moment of inattention, she stepped on a bone and cracked it under her weight. Predictably, she heard several animal shrieks from various directions. She froze once again and unintentionally dropped her weapon as her eyes met the numerous black orbs that crested a set of hideous mandibles. The creature was at least her size, if not bigger.

But she only hesitated for a moment this time. Her subconscious knew what her conscious mind was too scared to admit: it was 'do or die'. Her palms flared with lightning and flame, and bolts of electricity crackled through the air, and waves of searing fire scorched the ground under her as her feet levitated a small distance of ground. The webbing, that was the main hunting instrument of these insect-like beasts now proved to be their demise; it caught fire and incinerated its creators faster than you could say "roast spider". But that was not enough; dread and panic made Sieglinde sustain her spell combo far longer than would have been necessary, until there was naught but ashes left of the source of her terror. Finally, she stopped and looked around her as she once again gathered her composure.

"I hope you liked that, you disgusting creatures," she muttered under her breath.

The sword she dropped in her moment of panic was useless now, having been exposed to the same destructive heat that obliterated the spiders; there was little but a pulp of molten metal left. It seemed she would have to rely on the little dagger she still carried, or be forced to use conjured weaponry if it came to a close-range fight. She preferred not to use bound weapons; while they were made from pure energy and as such could be created anywhere at any time, they had no weight of their own, which effectively ruined her feeling for the force put behind each blow. She was of the Skaal after all, and had learned to fight with real weapons much sooner than she had learned to cast her first spell.

She pressed on, following an underground stream where she could, and after some more narrow tunnels and turns, finally managed to make it to the surface. The sun was shining bright, and the sounds of battle or the dragon's fury were nowhere to be heard. Wherever she came out of the cave, it must have been somewhere further from Helgen than it seemed, or the great wyrm must have already destroyed the fortress and left. Either way, the sky seemed clear for the time being.

Sieglinde drew back her hood and let her nigh-white hair flow while she followed a nearby forest trail with long strides.

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_**Author's note:** I am well aware of the fact that spiders are Arachnida, not insects. I do not, however, believe that Tamrielic biology in the Fourth Era has advanced to such an extent as to make this distinction meaningful yet._


	3. Path of the Mage

**Chapter 3: Path of the Mage**

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The trail she followed through the forest while uneasily looking back and scanning the sky for any sign of dragons led Sieglinde to a familiar sight: the three Guardian Stones near Lake Ilinalta. It has been over a decade since she last saw them, and she remembered fondly the memory of childhood wonder at the shrine of old. Like then, she walked into the middle and observed each of the three monoliths. The carvings on the ancient stone clearly depicted which constellation each of them was dedicated to. She remembered that as a girl of six years of age, she thought all the stories of the Guardian Stones were absolute truth, and joyfully touched both the Warrior and the Mage stones repeatedly. Now, almost fifteen years later, she knew that any magic that might have once been imbued in them was long gone. Yet, be it from a sense of nostalgia or an instinct about something being no longer the same, she placed her palm on the surface of the Mage stone.

A powerful energy erupted from the monolith, sending a bright ice-blue ray into the sky. The engravings shone as bright as the stars, and in the sky, the Mage's part of the firmament suddenly glowed so brightly, it could be seen by the naked eye in pure daylight. As soon as it happened, it also disappeared; save for the engravings on the stone and the cavity near its top, where mystical light remained for a few moments more before it too vanished from sight.

Sieglinde was in awe. She had never seen such an event occurring, and was, up to this moment, convinced that the stones were merely shrines, not actual places of power. Yet places of power they were, for she felt her magic even stronger than usual. Something very odd was about her ever since she had those dreams after being captured by the Imperials. First the dreams themselves, then the dragon, then the fact that she managed to master her fear of spiders, if only for a few moments, instead of fleeing, and now this display of starlight with the Guardian Stones. In less than two days, more extraordinary and unexplained events involving her had transpired than in the last couple of years. It seemed too much and too quickly to be mere coincidence, though she could not, at this time, detect a probable pattern. That would have to wait until she had the time to rest somewhere and clear her mind.

"If I remember correctly, Riverwood should be closer than Falkreath from here. Hopefully the inn is still in business," she thought and decided to follow the path north. From the Guardian Stones onward, the path was significantly wider and tiled with overgrown stones, which made it far easier to follow.

After a few uneventful turns, during which her only companions were solitude and the beautiful lake Ilinalta glistening with the last rays of the afternoon, and she could see Riverwood in the distance, at the end of a length of more or less straight route. The sun was still relatively high, but she knew it would be close to setting by the time she managed to arrive in town, so she quickened her pace.

No guard stopped her at the gate or asked her what business she had in town – there were none to be seen. The townsfolk seemed to be mostly inside as well, judging by the light escaping the windows of most buildings and the fact that nobody, save for a stray dog, was outside. She went straight to the inn, which, as she correctly assumed, changed little from when she was first (and last) there. Of course she was a completely different person now, and it would have been stupid to think anyone would have recognized her as the little girl with golden hair who once accompanied a merchant specializing in purveying magically enchanted goods.

The man she assumed was the innkeeper quickly looked in her direction, likely alerted by the sound of the heavy wooden door opening. There was a man drinking at one of the tables, and a bard playing the flute on the other side of the great fire bed in the centre of the room.

"It seems we have a visitor. Please, do come in," he invited her, his voice a low and raspy baritone. She closed the door and approached, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools at the barkeep's table and leaning her elbows on the flat surface between them.

"The name's Orgnar, I'm the bartender here. So, what can I help you with, miss?" he asked after a glance at her face. His expression betrayed nothing other than the talk he probably gave every customer. "We've got ale, mead and wine. Also food, if you're hungry. I cook."

"I'll need a room for tonight and warm meal would be lovely," she said with an uneasy smile, "but I'm afraid I don't have much money on me, so I'd like to know the prices first. I got robbed on the way by… bandits."

She drew the coin purses of the two guards she took them from before descending to the underground levels of Helgen keep.

"This is all I have right now, should be about a fifty septims altogether or so," she said with remorse. The bartender of course couldn't know that her equipment was worth a fortune, and it was this she was most remorseful of, not only the fact that she was not exactly wealthy at this point.

But he simply gave her a consoling smile and a short pat on a shoulder, then began to clean a mead mug.

"Don't worry lass, the rooms are ten septims a night, and you can get a good dinner for another ten or a cheap one for three, so I wouldn't worry so much if I were you. In fact," he said with a voice that indicated he just remembered something, "I know a couple of things you could do to make some money while you're here, if you're interested."

She looked him straight in the eyes and gave a short nod to indicate her affirmation of the fact. The man behind the counter placed a hand at his chin while he counted the ideas that came to mind.

"You could always chop firewood for Hod and Gerdur, or help them with the mill. Then there's Alvor, the blacksmith; he'd probably be willing to pay for someone to help him, if you know anything about forges. Then there's Lucan Valerius at the Riverwood trader. As far as I can tell, some bandits stole some golden ornament of his and he's offering good money to whomever who can bring it back. It'll likely be dangerous though, so don't make promises you can't keep. That is, unless you're the kind who isn't afraid to go blade to blade with a bunch of dangerous thieves and plunderers."

She considered the option. On one hand, she had no equipment and no money to buy any, which meant she was in danger. Then again, how much of a threat could a couple of bandits used to robbing helpless merchants pose to her, a mage of the penultimate circle of the College of Winterhold? Whatever the case, she would sleep on it before making any decisions. She thanked the bartender and made her way to the room on the left he showed her.

"Dinner will be in an hour or so. I'll knock twice," he said as she reached the door. The room was equipped with only a small table, a chair, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a bed all made from the wood of the same pines she saw growing outside the village. The window was small and fenced with intertwining iron lines, but it probably let enough light come through during the day. No bathtub, naturally; she would have to take a swim in the river to wash off the dust and dirt of the caves and the road. She kicked off her travelling boots, the only piece of clothing, other than her robe and undergarments, that the soldiers had left her when they arrested her. Considering what happened, she felt stupid for not having enchanted even those. Still, regret for actions not taken while they still could have made a difference was pointless now. All she could do with those thoughts was to learn from her error and try not to repeat it in the future. But for that, she needed soul gems, and for those she needed money, if the local trader even had any to begin with.

Lying down on the bed, she began planning for her following course of action. Wake up at dawn or sooner, go for a swim and wash in the river before the villagers could wake up and disturb her, then go talk to the trader about the bandits to learn all she could about them. Hopefully, they wouldn't be too much of a challenge. At any rate, it might be a good idea to see what the smith needed help with; it was always smart to be on good terms with the local blacksmith. At some point, not knowing when, she fell asleep.

* * *

_"As foreseen, the incarnation was the last string necessary for Alduin's return. I would have said I told all of you so, were the situation not so grim."_

_"You were correct in that. It would seem the World-Eater had managed to subvert the time trap in some way, to have appeared so close to the Incarnate and so soon after the ascension. However, the Incarnate has managed to evade him once and escape with her life. It will not be long before her body and mind grow accustomed to the great power now vested within her."_

_"Indeed it is so, but the mortal mind is not always knowledgeable about the capabilities of its vessel. What if the Incarnate is destroyed before her mind can tap into her new potential? Were this very likely scenario to occur, all our hopes would have been for lost."_

_"That is a possibility. Forget not that the Hero Eternal has already incarnated too many times, and their powers weaken each time."_

_"It may come to pass that another of the et'Ada perish before all is over."_

_"It was his choice. We all know he could never stand by and watch the mortals contend with their greatest challenges unaided. He has too much compassion for the lives and happiness of Man."_

_"And Mer. Not all Incarnates were human."_

_"It still baffles me how the Dunmer were capable of prophesying that one's reincarnation. Of course it was only another incarnation for the Hero Eternal, yet it is the closest they have come to realizing the truth about the invisible hand with which we guide them."_

_"It still baffles all of us as to how they could make themselves in so many ways like the Daedra with the core of Mundus."_

_"The mortals will never understand any but the simplest aspects of ours. Perhaps we can be content not to understand one or two things about them."_

_"That will never end well."_

* * *

_**Author's note:** in this setting, the Guardian Stones can only be activated by an Incarnate (more on that topic later). They also do not improve only the speed of learning the skills they are tied to, but also improve the skills themselves somewhat. This is similar to a mod I have grown very accustomed to using, it is called Better Standing Stones by one "lobotomy0" and can be found on Skyrim Nexus. As for the comment that Sieglinde is not a very typical example of one who was born among the Skaal, I can reveal that she did not live among them for very long. This particular twist will become more important when she returns to Solstheim._


	4. Quite Bleak a Fall, part 1

**Chapter 4: Quite Bleak a Fall, part 1**

* * *

Sieglinde woke the next morning feeling sore and not at all well-rested. She was not used to sleep deprivation, at least not when coupled with adrenaline and the threat of imminent death. Oh there were nights she spent without sleeping at all, discussing Alteration magic and its applications with Tolfdir or exploring other types of magic, not all of it tied to the Destruction school, with Faralda, but those were completely different cases. And she had explored more than one draugr-infested, troll-full, skeever-ridden tomb of some great sorcerer of old in search for ancient mysteries. Sometimes, she even duelled a guardian who would not shirk from its duty even in death, and most of those were powerful mages while alive, only getting stronger in undeath. Still, all of those were tombs that went nowhere and could be studied and prepared for beforehand, only to be tackled after she was confident about the likelihood of her escaping unscathed. All the events of the past two days, on the other hand, were impossible to predict and subsequently caught her entirely by surprise. Sieglinde hated surprises. Not much she could do about it though, so she stopped feeling sorry for herself and snuck outside.

The majority of the village was still asleep, only the mill was already running. Crossing the bridge and a minute of walking northwards brought her to the first of the short waterfalls on the White river. She trekked the path around to the bottom of the first cascade and, after making sure she was alone, took off her clothes and plunged herself into the water. The current could still be felt, but she was confident it would not sweep her over the next cascade unless she fell asleep or otherwise neglected to resist the water's pull.

She bathed in the clear stream for a while, letting the cold but revitalising water caress her naked form, diving occasionally, partially so as to wash her hair, but mostly just for the joy of it. She chose the spot well; had she gone further downstream, the water would likely have been shallower, and the way back to Riverrun longer. On the other hand, had she gone for a swim further upstream, there was always the possibility of cyrodiilic slaughterfish showing up from nowhere with the idea of making a snack of her. The waterfall, however, was a sure way to avoid them, as the nasty predator likely had an instinct to avoid areas of strong current so as not to be thrown over the edge and into waters too shallow for it to survive in. Well, that at least was the widely accepted reason why there were no slaughterfish in fast-flowing or shallow rivers, and at least in Sieglinde's experience, it has so far held true.

She tended to her golden platinum mane after coming out of the water's embrace. Afterwards, she soaked her clothes and rubbed them, so as to get as much of the dirt out of them as possible. As soon as she was dressed, with both her hair and the clothes on her still completely wet, she rubbed her hands together and let her magic flow. A wave of warmth enveloped her, drying her clothes, body and hair. It was a spell of simple effects and execution, one that no one would have suspected required quite an extended period of time to master. The trick was measure: it was rather easy to conjure fire to burn things, just as it was not that difficult to wreathe oneself in a vortex of flame to harm all that came too close, save for the mage themselves. Learning how to manipulate heat, the very essence of fire, on the other hand, was somewhat more delicate, and mastering the proper measure so as not to burn oneself was a process that required a fair share practice. Yet once mastered, it enabled one to traverse even the coldest reaches of Skyrim or the deepest of her tombs, unafraid of ever freezing to death. Using the same spell to dry her clothes for not wanting to strut around naked or relying on strangers to lend her other clothes in the meantime was just a perk, or, as some might see it, laziness on the mage's part.

The Nord mage returned to the village to find it already awoken and as busy as it was likely to be most days. She stopped at the inn for breakfast, further thinning her already small coin purse, then went next door to the village trader.

The short-haired man at the halter who was obviously in a bad mood introduced himself as Lucan Valerius. What his facial features hinted at, his name confirmed: he was an Imperial.

_Likely made the false judgement that Skyrim would have been more profitable than Cyrodiil, then got stuck after having invested too much in the shop,_ she assumed. They exchanged a couple of empty phrases before they finally got to business. In the end, she managed to get a good price on the two spell books she found on the dead mage in the dungeons of Helgen. Not that she told Valerius that, of course; to his knowledge, she found the books in an abandoned chest after having lost her way in the woods. The entrepreneurial spirit of the man was evident, as he seemed to know he was not told the truth, but did not even bother to comment on that; he probably told himself that if he doesn't ask, he won't know, and then he won't have to lie if anyone asks. Besides, it wasn't as if she had stolen the books; the corpse could hardly read them, and spell books for beginner mages weren't exactly treasures to bury with the owner.

Yet rationalize as she might, she couldn't escape the feeling of guilt. That man was not some ancient sorcerer who made a discovery which changed the world's understanding of magic and took it to their grave. That man was someone who just began to understand their powers, and was either only just getting to learning his first spells, or maybe someone who bought the books for a friend or a relative, and for all she knew probably got caught crossing the border, just like her. And she treated him as merely an object which may have once been a person, but at that moment only existed for her to ease her life a little after she had managed to escape. What if she had not escaped at all, what justification would she have had then?

"…but I guess you're too interested in whatever you see on that rusty old mace to actually care about what I'm saying. It's twenty gold pieces if you want it, by the way." The annoyance and cynicism were clear in the shopkeeper's voice. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I just… remembered something. And no, I don't want a mace; I prefer cutting weapons, if anything. Would you be so kind as to repeat what you were saying before?" She did her best to look truly repentant and gave him a sweet and perfectly faked smile.

"Yeah, I guess we're all going a little crazy these days," he said and rolled his eyes a little. "What I said was that I'm offering a good deal of gold if you're the kind who can get something of mine back from a bunch of bandits."

"I suppose I could look into it. How much are we talking about, what did they steal, and do you have any clue as to where they are?" A small, but satisfied smile showed on the Imperial's face.

"Good, you know what you need. You might just come through with this for me. They took my prized golden claw; it's a statuette about this big." He made an approximation of the size of the object with his hands. "Last I heard of them, they were making their way to Bleak Falls Barrow, an old tomb up on the mountain west of here. You can't miss it if you follow the path over the bridge, up the hill and along the watchtower. Of course, since there's never a guard to be found on patrol here when you need them, nobody went after them. Oh yeah, and I'm offering five hundred septims, which is more than you'll get anywhere else, if by any chance you're thinking of double-crossing me."

"Just one question," the customer asked after making an effort to memorise everything the shopkeeper had said. "Do you have any soul gems I could buy? The larger the better."

"I think I had some, just give me a moment," he said after a moment of surprise, then began to rumble about under the counter.

"Yeah, found some. They've been here for a while though, and it would seem there are only the smaller ones left," he said with a somewhat-disappointed look on his face. "Funny, I'd swear I had more. Guess the bandits took those too, serves me right for not making an inventory check-up more often. Tell you what; if you find any, they're yours as long as you bring me the claw back. Consider it a bonus."

A couple of minutes later, she left the shop with a simple, yet durable backpack containing a dozen petty- and four lesser soul gems, along with enough travel rations to last her a day or so. She had a few coins left, but decided not to spend them yet. While it might have been prudent to buy some armour, she was confident in the power of her spells and she needed to have some spending money for when she came back, if the odd chance of there being absolutely no treasure buried in the barrow had occurred.

Thusly equipped, she made her way north again, this time crossing the bridge and continuing up the mountain path that Valerius' sister pointed out for her as being the way to the barrow. The path was uneventful, not counting on a couple of wolves that tried to ambush her, but fled with their tails between their legs as soon as they saw fire burst from the palms of their supposed prey. The first problem arose as she approached a lone and dilapidated watchtower; she could see two people in front of the little bridge that separated the ruin from the path, one leaning on the wall and another towards a tree near the path. A third was standing on top of the tower with a bow in hand. They didn't wear uniforms, so Sieglinde assumed they were most likely hunters or bandits. She drew a hand behind her back and made the gestures required for her favourite defensive spell - Ebonyflesh. That way, she was sure to be safe of any unexpected attack long enough to retaliate, as well as demoralising an enemy who saw their weapon deflected by an invisible force. Magic always did have an awe- and fear-inspiring effect on those not sharing the gift, especially in Skyrim.

"…looks on this one, boys. Lemme do the talkin'," said the one leaning on the tree after having said some other things which the mage could not discern. "Ho there, lass. What brings you on our lonely mountain pass on this fine sunny day?"

Sieglinde didn't like the man's smile, but nevertheless she approached them casually, analysing the men and their equipment as she did so. The one who spoke to her was Redguard clad in tempered furs with two iron axes strapped to his belt and a leather helmet on his head. The other was a Khajiit, wearing a full set of iron armour and a greatsword on his back. The archer was too high to discern exactly, but she could see his skin was bright and his ears were definitely not elven, and while the bow and arrows he held at the ready were simple wood, the arrow shafts were bright steel.

"Oh nothing much," she said in a light-hearted tone. "Just going for a morning stroll, checking out the barrow, looking for a golden claw… that sort of thing."

The men shared a confused look before turning back to her. Obviously they had not expected such an answer.

"That's all well and good missy," said the Redguard, "but you see, this is a path not often travelled, which me and my buddies here work hard to keep traversable. In return, we ask travellers such as yourself to make a… donation for our efforts and your benefit from our labour."

It did not escape Sieglinde that the man changed the manner of his speech drastically when spinning circles around obvious facts. And the obvious fact was that they were highwaymen preying on anyone stupid enough to be caught by them. Still, she played along with the verbal game, buying herself time to plan her strategy in the likely event of combat.

"My good sirs, I commend you for your hard work and honest plea. I am truly sorry, but I am afraid I cannot make a contribution for your efforts due to having been robbed of all possessions of mine not a day ago." Her attitude was as faked as they come, but she made her best effort to look sincere. After all, you never know if you just happen to get lucky and find out that the other person is gullible enough. That was not the case now.

"Well now, isn't that unfortunate…" said the cat with a strong Elsweyri accent. "But we cannot simply let you pass without first paying the toll. If you do not have any coin on you, you will have to find another way to satisfy us." The sneer on his face and the chuckle at his own statement made it pretty obvious what kind of payment the Khajiit had in mind. Naturally, the Redguard was not at all upset with this suggestion and chimed in his agreement;

"Ah, an excellent suggestion my friend! Of course we cannot be so cruel as to squeeze the last septim of someone who has just been robbed. Naturally we accept other forms of, 'currency,' shall we say."

The blonde mage on the other hand was not at all excited about the idea. The one thing that annoyed her most were men who made unwanted advances. Well, being falsely accused and sentenced to death likely topped even that, but she hoped that would never happen again.

"Well now, why didn't you just say so in the first place?" she purred with a sweet voice, mimicking the Khajiit's wording, and shifted her weight alluringly as she slowly approached the men. Smiling at each of them in turn, she placed a palm on each of their jaws and moved down their necks and armours until she reached their belts.

"You know, they say I have magic hands. Want to know why?" she continued to ooze titillation as she palmed their crotches. Neither of them answered soon enough, nor would it have mattered if they had; with a thought she produced searing flames from her hands and burned through fur, leather, iron, skin and bone. Her face turned into a twisted mask as she watched the misfortunate fools writhe in agony as their most prized assets turned into burned liquid.

"How's that for a **burning** sensation, you cock-headed mutts?" she gloated as they tried to put out the fires by something that would most accurately be described as 'banging a pile of snow,' coupled with a long and verbose stream of profanities. The sound of an arrow loosed from a bow and the subsequent _clank_ of that same arrow being deflected by the invisible force field that surrounded her turned the mage's attention to the remaining bandit.

"Oh yes, there's still you." Those were the only words the man on the tower heard before a lightning bolt melted the surprise off his face and sent him flying over the battlement and into the air behind the tower.

"Now back to you two," she said as she turned back to the emasculated duo. Lightning sparkled around her right palm and flames wreathed her left.

"You will give me any of the money and valuables you've stolen, including the golden claw, and I let you continue your worthless parasitic lives. Otherwise, your manhood won't be the only thing burned to a crisp."

"Daedra take you and split pieces of you among all the realms of Oblivion, you fucking monster!" shouted the Redguard and spat blood in her direction. Since he was too busy wallowing in snow to aim, he didn't accomplish much else than making a statement and sealing his fate.

"You first," said the woman and incinerated the man until there was naught but charred bones in a pile of melted snow left. She turned to the Khajiit, who had just managed to shake off the last ember. His proud fur was now patchy and burned in several places, and he looked like a beaten and sorry remnant of what he might once had been.

"They say your people have a well-developed survival instinct. I trust you're not as eager to die as your accomplice here?" Her usually bright cerulean eyes were colder than the snow around them.

"You've made your point, eh… miss," he said among pained groans. "This one thinks it is not so good to be proud and dead than to be poor and lame and alive."

"Smart," she said without doing anything else. She waited for him to continue, watching his every move.

"Eh, right, the loot," said the cat as he filled his pants with snow and sighed with relief. His pain was still evident in his voice, though he made an effort to speak coherently.

"It's all in a chest in that old tower; take it, it is not worth dying for, I think. Don't think there was a golden claw in there though. You could check the ruin further up; there was a group that went there a few days ago." He picked up his sword and used it to help himself stand.

"Can I go now? I want to be as far away before you start burning things up the mountain and rocks start falling down here."

"Yes," she said after a short pause. "But you'll leave all your weapons here. I don't want you attacking any more innocents ever again, and I obviously can't just take your word for it."

This obviously angered the man. He dragged himself to the tree his accomplice was leaning on before, slashed at a branch with his greatsword, and then plunged his weapon so deep the end came out on the other side of the trunk. It would be nigh impossible to pull out without felling the tree. He picked up the branch, broke it so the stronger part was the height of his chest, then leaned on it and looked at her.

"Happy now?" he said with barely contained anger. She could read his thoughts through his eyes: he was humiliated, disarmed, singed and castrated; yet he knew when he was defeated and valued his life over his dignity. An unprovoked thought emerged in Sieglinde's mind and she made a mental note to let Drevis know you did not in fact need to cast a single illusion spell to intimidate or pacify a foe.

"A wise decision. Go and hope our paths never cross again," she told him and walked by over the small bridge and to the ruined tower.

* * *

_**Author's note:** I apologise for the long wait between this chapter and the last. Between studying for exams and other occupations that require my attention, getting enough time to sit down and actually write something is currently hard to come by. I hope a slightly longer update will be a sufficient apology, otherwise I'll have to make it up to you with chapter 5._


	5. Quite Bleak a Fall, part 2

**Chapter 5: Quite Bleak a Fall, part 2**

* * *

Clouds from the Reach were moving towards Whiterun and Riverwood, propelled by the strong western wind Sieglinde could feel on her skin as she ascended the snowy path towards the barrow's balcony. She was protected from the wind before, but now that she had ascended further, the mountain no longer provided cover from the elements. The mage didn't stop or slow down, but she did cast the same spell she used in the morning to warm herself and used her hands to shield her eyes from the sharp wind. The gloves she took from the dead Redguard helped a bit against the cold, just as the iron shin- and wrist-guards likely would in the case of another confrontation. At least the sun was still shining, albeit it would not do so for long, if the clouds continued to advance at such a pace.

The slow ascent gave her the time to unintentionally reflect on the recent development. What she had done to those men was nothing short of cruel, despite their intentions of doing acts of comparable depravity to her, given the chance. But she was not a cruel woman. It was as if something had changed her; as if she had all this power and needed to let it out; to burn and shout and scream and destroy. She had had a similar feeling before; when she was still a child, with the magical energies swirling inside her, unable to be controlled or shaped. But she had not known this urge for destruction ever since; if it ever resurfaced, it was quickly discovered, controlled and repressed. Now it seemed as though her willpower and self-control were suddenly insufficient to subdue her passions. It could not have been insanity, as she was well aware of her actions - nor could it be simple weakness, for her will was as strong as ever. Whatever the reason was, she could not guess - but she knew it would be the end of her, unless she managed to bring her own person once again under the control of her mind.

During the extent of such ruminations, the mountaintop seemed to creep up around the corner and caught her unaware; as did the actual size of the balcony that crested the peak and guarded the gate of the barrow carved into the very bones of the mountain. But the grand masonry from ancient times was not all that stood watch over the entrance: a handful of people wrapped in furs and armed with bows and arrows patrolled the archways. Naturally they spotted the mage before she could even consider hiding. The stark contrast of dark robes upon her pale skin, fair hair and white snow all around them did not exactly provide her with considerable camouflage either.

"Ya picked a bad time t' get lost, friend!" shouted one of the archers, his voice already somewhat muffled by the rising wind. "Since i's 'bou' t' star' pourin', we feelin' mighty gen'rous an' let ya save yer 'ide if ya get yer sorry ass back t' wha'ev'r 'ole i' crawled out!"

"You would turn away a pilgrim from their destination, even after having climbed all this way, and force her to go back with a storm brewing?" she challenged him with feigned pitifulness.

"Ain't none a' my business what'cha doin' 'ere, 'slong 's ya stay away. Come too close an' I shoot ye."

"Let me make you a counteroffer," she said now with her voice strong and confident. "Drop your weapons and run away this instant, and you may be spared from the thunderstorm that is about to hit this place."

The man simply laughed. Then he was simply hit in the middle of his iron breastplate with a lightning bolt from the woman's palm and electrocuted to death with an accompanying shriek of pain. The other archers were quick to respond and loose their arrows, but Sieglinde had already rolled to the side, avoiding them. She dashed forward, trusting her armour spell to keep her safe from any arrow that might hit her, and threw bolts of fire and lightning at the men shooting at her. Unlike the first one, these men were not caught by surprise and made efforts to dodge, which prolonged the fight significantly. The main flaw in their manner of attack, however, was that they have apparently not fought many mages before. They kept shooting at her from sharp angles, which meant she could easily dodge most arrows by anticipating their trajectory from the enemy's direction of aiming, as well as rely on her armour spell to deflect whatever she failed to evade. The archers were quick on their feet as well, which made the mage quickly abandon her fast-moving explosive fireballs in exchange for the much faster lightning bolts, which, while moving instantaneously, could only hit a single target. After that, it was merely a matter of time; one by one, the archers were hit by one thunderbolt after another, and while a few of them did land a couple of lucky shots on the blonde mage, her defensive spell held long enough for their hits to be meaningless. She did not care for the screams of the dying or the suffering she inflicted upon them, even less for their insignificant attempts to fight back. Her mind shut off higher mental processes and she had become storm incarnate, wading through doors and bandits and the occasional unlucky skeever, flinging sky-fire at whatever dared cross her.

It was not until she had reached a chamber with a barred gateway, which managed to resist her tempestuous fury, that she regained her senses. The riddle was a simple one, not even a riddle but a simple check if the entering person was capable of basic thought or not, however the fact that one of the stone heads had crumbled and dropped from the wall and the symbol inside its mouth hidden under rubble explained why there was a dead body of another bandit in the room before the mage even got there. A telekinesis spell cleared the rubble, unravelling the symbol beneath, and the mage wasted no time to turn the three pillars to match the images and order displayed on the stone heads above the gateway. But while doing so, her mind was hardly occupied, which meant it began to reflect on the recent developments. Why did she suddenly drop into a rampage at some point? There was no logical explanation; not a single arrow had hurt her, so it could not have been rage or adrenaline due to pain. Was she suddenly so fickle as to go berserk from the sheer fact that the enemy refused to be defeated quickly? She refused to believe that. And yet there was something driving her on, as if her subconscious was telling her she was wasting time, and should finish up whatever it was she was doing quickly so she could move on to more important matters that required her attention. The problem was, baring the unexplained dragon sighting, she could not remember any specific event that would have been sufficiently important, other than getting back to the college and sharing what she had learned in Cyrodiil with the rest of Winterhold's mages. Was this dragon truly such a danger that it would spur her mind to rush for a confrontation with it? Whatever the case, she needed money, at least for a carriage ride, if not a horse, and the best option at getting some at this point was to get Valerius' golden claw along with whatever soul gems she could find. After that, she could always offer to enchant the villagers' tools for more coin. Luckily for her, the table behind the now open gateway contained on its surface a couple of soul gems, a lesser and a greater one, which Sieglinde eagerly picked up and safely stored in her backpack. In her enthusiasm over the find, she had not paid sufficient attention to the world around her, which allowed a particularly crafty skeever to sneak up on her and bite her in the leg before she could re-cast the defensive spell that had worn off while she bothered with the pillars in the last room.

With a pained shriek and a short stream of loud swearing, she stabbed the creature's eye with a pair of fingers, forcing it to remove its fetid teeth from her flesh. She hadn't bothered with trying to scare the nasty critter off; it hurt her, now it had to die. Painfully. She impaled the oversized rat to the wall with an ice spike and simultaneously trapped it's petty little soul, which was then stored in one of the smaller soul gems she had brought from Valerius' shop.

"That'll teach you to bite me, you stinking rodent," she said half to the lifeless carcass, half to her backpack where the now-filled soul gem was contained. The wound on her left leg was of some concern, however. Not only did skeevers have long and sharp front teeth, their unsanitary dwellings and lifestyle also assured they more often than not carried more than one debilitating disease. The Nord now regretted not having studied the school of restoration enough to be able to satisfyingly cure herself. She managed to use a rather simple spell to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but she knew she would have to seek the service of a skilled healer in case the wound was infected. She could only hope exertion would not cause too much pain to slow her down significantly. Still, she took care not to take chances as she proceeded deeper into the barrow.

A couple of skeevers later, Sieglinde found herself face-to-face with two frostbite spiders and their brood-mother. As before, the mage was momentarily paralysed by the sheer sight of their skittering legs and their numerous searching eyes, being completely oblivious to the cries for help from someone behind a shroud of webbing in the back of the chamber. The octopods still burned like kindling once the Nord woman got a hold of herself and their own webs enveloped them through the use of telekinesis and were subsequently set on fire. After the immediate threat was dealt with, the mage turned her attention to the sound coming from the other side of the room, which was apparently present all along.

"Cut me down from this web, will you? Have some pity and don't leave me hangin' 'ere, for Arkay's sake!" The voice belonged to a Dunmer caught in the webbing that blocked the path from this room into whatever lay behind.

Having met nothing but bandits or unintelligent critters during her journey up the mountain and through the barrow so far, Sieglinde was not so fast to offer assistance to a stranger. After all, he must have had reason to have come down here to be captured in the first place.

"Who are you and why should I help you? And how did you end up there in the first place? It's not like I would believe you were 'just exploring' this place, so if you were going to try that one, save your breath."

The elf shut up for a moment, then, likely realising he was in no danger as long as he did not provoke his potential saviour, continued in a less panicked tone:

"M' name's Arvel. I 'ired a bunch a' low-lives t' get me this figurine you need t' get to the final chamber in this tomb. Problem is I got caught in this web 'ere when I tried t' sneak past them spiders. Cut me down an' trust me, I'll make it worth your while."

The part about the final chamber and the supposed key to unlock it got the mage's attention. With a voice of silk hiding steel she purred at him:

"And what, pray tell, is supposed to be so important in this final chamber that you'd risk life and limb to acquire it? And this figurine; it does not, by any chance, resemble a golden claw? Like, say, the one Lucan Valerius is missing from his store?"

The elf hesitated for a moment, but either he realised he just gave himself away and it would not do to try to hide it now, or he decided the truth would be more beneficial when he replied with:

"Yes, tha's the one. No' my fault if 'e didn't wanna part with it for gold an' I 'ad t' get creative. I was gonna give it back after I was done with it anyway, the stuff in the final chamber 'slikely worth far more than that little antique. B'sides, the jarl's wizard's payin' good money for the dragonstone, so even if everything in there's worthless, I'll still get rich. And you'll get part of that for helping me down here."

"Why do I get the feeling you wouldn't be telling me this unless you had some ulterior motive?" she asked with visible scepticism. The man groaned, as if trying to tell her to stop acting stupid.

"Listen darling, I'm caught in a web and no' likely to ever ge' down 'less you 'elp me, I happen t' find partin' with a share o' the reward preferable to spendin' the rest o' my days hangin' up 'ere till one o' those eggs hatches an' one o' them spiders whose mother you just killed decides t' take its vengeance on me. Is that too difficult t' understand, or are you so paranoid you expect ev'ryone t' stab you inna back?"

"That's really the crux of it, isn't it?" she replied. "How do I know you won't do just that after I set you free? Especially after you've already confessed to being a thief."

"Look lass, the way I see i', we can talk who might betray whom till I grow a beard t' the ground and your breasts sag just as low, but I'd rather get my 'ands on that treasure an' then I'll be a completely happy Dunmer if I never see another tomb in my life again. Now are you goin' to le' me down or not?"

She wanted to slap him, but she could not refute Arvel's point, so instead if slapping him, she conjured a bound dagger and, with a precise couple of cuts, cut the elf loose. Along with him stumbling to the ground, most of the webbing also gave way to open up the path behind them.

"Thanks," said the bandit leader and stretched his limbs. "You've no idea how uncomfortable tha' was."

"I can imagine. Now how about we get ourselves through this barrow without any further ado?" she replied.

"Yeah, sure. Lemme jus' take out the claw..." he said as he turned sideways to access his belt pouch - and the next moment he had already vanished behind the corner into the next chamber.

"You son of an oversized Riekling!" the mage shouted behind him after a brief moment of stupefaction over the stupidity of having been right all along, but the elf nevertheless managed to talk her into trusting him long enough to use her. She sped up after him, but the elf already had a hefty head-start.

"Arvel the Swift, was nice meeting you, sucker!" echoed through the corridors in front of her as she ran through a semi-circular room. Then just shortly after, she heard a loud growl in a foreign language, sounding like "Aav Dilon," followed by a loud death wail that could only have been Arvel's. She stopped just in time to stand face-to-face with a corpse of a long-dead warrior, whose shrivelled flesh and skin still held to his bones, but lacked all the fulness, softness and warmth of life. She had encountered draugr once before, but they still chilled her blood.

"Quiilaan Us Dilon!" the dead man demanded, his wrought-iron sword dripping with the blood of the thief he intercepted. Sieglinde was shocked. The draugr she had faced before had never spoken, they were simply guards that continued their duty even after death, without ever muttering a single word. Having no idea what the corpse wanted, she found herself at a loss of words. This was apparently an affront, as the corpse decided to attack and subsequently hit the ground with a loud clang and a small shower of sparks as the mage dodged. Deciding she would deal with the curious incident of a talking draugr **after** said draugr was no longer intent on cutting her in half, she then proceeded to barrage the walking corpse with small orbs of fire until whatever magic controlled it ceased and the remains crumbled into a pile of ash.

An hour or so later, Sieglinde had crossed several rooms filled with traps and dead that would not stay dead. Finally, she was standing in front of an intricately carved corridor, which lead to a large, circular seal blocking off the rest of the crypt. The Hall of Stories. She had read about such chambers adorning the tombs of great and noteworthy heroes of old, whose deeds were so many and so important as to be carved into the walls of the antechamber of their tomb. But the mage had never actually seen one herself and she took a while to study the carvings before proceeding to the door. After a quick glance into the journal of Arvel, once called "the swift" but now quit stiff and immobile, the golden claw unlocked the seal on the tomb.

Little did Sieglinde know, that another hint at her true destiny was about to be revealed to her beyond that very gate.

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Apologies for the long wait; exam period has finally come to a close, so I should have a little more time on my hands for writing now. I decided to play a little with writing speech more phonetically so as to convey a stronger impression of how I imagined some characters speaking. I am well aware that such playing with the language is not everyone's cup of tea, so please let me know if it is still comprehensible enough, and whether you prefer this method or if__ instead_ you rather see clear speech with an accompanying comment about the intended pronunciation.


End file.
